


Harsh

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, M/M, PWP, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: The RK900 visits the Eden Club.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 21
Kudos: 255





	Harsh

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Unlike a few other androids stalling in the entrance way, the RK900 doesn’t turn his head as he marches through the Eden Club’s foyer. His optic sensors automatically scan every lewd image that flashes in his peripherals—one half-naked human after the other sprawled out across snow-white sheets, some slick with sweat and others with red-blood flushing through their cheeks, all beckoning patrons _closer._ The RK900 has already made up his mind to enter the establishment, and once a mission’s set in place, the RK900 never goes back on it. He occasionally _alters_ his sub-objectives, sometimes in otherwise unpredictable ways—in a way, he’s surprising himself by visiting a human sex club. The RK900 should be able to foresee every possibility and therefore impossible to surprise, but the RK900 is also incredibly complex and adaptive. He’s the most advanced model ever made. So of course, along with infinite intelligence and peak physical strength, he has the greatest ‘emotional’ intensity. And he doesn’t need it coming out in the form of aggression that might compromise his day job. _Sex_ is the logical first choice. 

He steps into the lobby, where the sprawling space opens up into dimly-lit rooms, littered with small circular stages and glass canisters. Scantily-clad humans spin around poles in the center, others tucked inside their tubes, a mid-length panel on the inside denoting their ability to escape. A panel on the outside suggests the customer has access too. The concept of it is jarring—they look like _caged humans_ , but the RK900 can see several other androids milling about, eyeing all the imperfections of _natural_ flesh—the enticing differences in stretch marks, cellulite, scars, and moles, not to mention a far broader range of body types than what androids typically come in. The RK900 understands that’s half the appeal for his peers: sex with a human is a messy experiment, something raw and erratic—a break in routine no android partner could truly deliver. The RK900 has no interest in any kind of partner. He just needs _release_.

He scans the room for anything of interest, and instantly, he finds it—a short, scruffy human standing outside a half-open door. The sneer he casts around the room isn’t the soft, sultry gaze of the other workers, but his wardrobe gives him away: he’s wearing nothing but a pair of tight-fitted grey boxer-briefs that leave very little to the imagination. 

The RK900 zeros in on the impressive bulge in the man’s underwear and extrapolates a three-dimensional visual of his genitals. Then the RK900 allows his gaze to rake back up to the man’s chiseled face, where a quick scan reveals: _Reed, Gavin. Born: 07/10/2002._ His occupation’s obvious, and his criminal record shows a series of volatile misdemeanors but no serious crimes. That handsome face turns towards him, and the frown on it intensifies.

The RK900 crosses the club anyway, weaving around two pedestals and a human couple ogling them. The closer the RK900 gets, the more Gavin’s shoulders square. By the time the RK900 gets there, Gavin’s stance is vaguely reminiscent of a panther ready to pounce—but to rip out an enemy’s throat, not to mate.

Undeterred, the RK900 asks, “How much?” As the top investigator in Detroit, he can certainly afford whatever the price is, but it seems as reasonable as any place to start the conversation. Gavin’s eyes flicker right to his temple. 

The RK900’s confident his LED is a nice, calm blue. He doesn’t imagine anything in the Eden Club will be able to _actually_ destabilize him, although he’s heard plenty about the ‘emotional shock’ that is human intercourse. If Gavin had an LED, it’d clearly be red. He looks away and snorts, “I don’t take android clients.”

That’s an unexpected roadblock. It’s an irrational one, given that at least half the clubs’ clientele seems to be inorganic. The RK900 simply inquires, “Why not?”

Gavin rolls his eyes, like it’s a burden on him for the RK900 to still be standing there. He gives the RK900 a snotty look and deadpans, “Because they can’t fuck me right.”

The RK900 lifts a brow. He can understand why _androids_ , capable of simultaneously noticing and analyzing every detail, might want to try different kinds of sex, but humans are basically animals—it shouldn’t take much to satisfy them. 

Gavin looks like he’s never been properly satisfied in his life. He clarifies, “I want _passion_ , not perfection. I don’t need some plastic prick coming in to play doctor with me like I’m some quaint little toy.”

The RK900’s eyebrow drops again. He steps forward, right into Gavin’s space, leaving _just enough_ room for Gavin to squeeze away. Instead, Gavin’s breath holds, eyes boring into the RK900’s. Now the RK900 knows what Gavin wants, it’s easy enough to engage the right sub-routines to get them what they both desire.

The RK900 looms over Gavin and leans down to hiss right in his face, “You’re a toy, alright. And the _right_ android could use you so much rougher than any human ever could.” The RK900 could _break_ Gavin in two so easily, but he can tell he’s already said enough. The surprise in Gavin’s gaze clouds thickly into lust. Most androids must just smile politely and leave when he rebukes them. The RK900 doesn’t have such weak-willed programming. 

He sets higher objectives, and he achieves them. He leans forward just enough that his crotch brushes over Gavin’s, and he makes sure that his synthetic cock is noticeably hard. It’s as big and imposing as the rest of the RK900—he doubts Gavin’s ever taken someone that giant. 

Gavin’s lashes flutter, teeth gritting as the RK900 grinds them together. He pushes into the hand that flattens against his chest, and for a moment, Gavin seems to delight in that touch.

Then Gavin shoves him back. The RK900 obligingly withdraws, though his gaze remains ravenous. Gavin reaches behind himself to tap the door panel—it whisks fully open. Gavin slips inside, and the RK900 doesn’t need to be told twice to follow. 

Humans are pathetically easy. The door clicks itself shut, and the RK900 storms across the space, on Gavin in an instant—Gavin actually _groans_ at the touch, obviously turned on already. It’s almost _too_ easy. The RK900 grabs at Gavin’s hair without any regard for the fragility of the human scalp—he doesn’t care if he rips out several dark strands. He smashes Gavin’s mouth into his and instantly goes in with tongue and teeth, prying Gavin open. He dives in so deep that Gavin actually _chokes_ , and hands scrabble at his jacket, but the RK900 doesn’t relent, doesn’t think Gavin wants him to—he devours Gavin in a sudden flood of sensor readings—the scent of Gavin’s skin, the taste of his lips, the chemical makeup of his saliva and every dip and curve inside his throat; the RK900 maps it all for later reconstruction. This one is going in the permanent memory banks. 

He wants _more_ for it. His other hand loops around Gavin’s back and ducks to squeeze his ass, digging into the round cheeks waiting for him—the fabric does nothing to obscure the data. The RK900 palms and pinches and rubs it all, pushing between both cheeks and sliding down to a damp patch—either Gavin’s reapplied lubrication, or he hasn’t washed himself since his last patron. It reminds the RK900 again how disgustingly _sloppy_ humans are. 

Nonetheless, he can admit a certain thrill to kneading Gavin’s ass. Android bottoms are taut and tight, but Gavin’s is wondrously _soft_ , like the texture of his tongue and the back of his hair. The RK900 bites into Gavin’s bottom lip, wanting a taste of _red blood_ too, but Gavin hisses in pain, and he lets go before he gets that far. Gavin’s mouth is too big a temptation. So the RK900 grabs Gavin’s shoulder and spins him around—he yelps in surprise, only to be crushed back against the RK900’s massive chest. The RK900’s hands instantly resume exploring, one smoothing across Gavin’s breast and the other running down his stomach. The dark hairs there are tantalizing—coarse and uneven, prickling: another rush of sensations that the RK900 greedily records. At the waistband of Gavin’s boxer-briefs, the RK900 checks again, “How much?”

His fingertips breach the barrier. He slides inside, soaking in the sheer _warmth_ of Gavin’s skin, and Gavin arches forward, head lolling back onto the RK900’s shoulder. All he says is, “ _Fuck_.”

It never ceases to amaze the RK900 how easily distracted humans are. Clearly, he’s not about to get a fair estimate. He tallies his priorities—get a coherent answer or mercilessly debauch Gavin Reed—and selects the obvious choice. 

He shoves Gavin towards the bed so hard that Gavin stumbles at the foot of it and has to scrabble at the sheets to stay on. He hikes himself to the middle as the RK900 stalks forward, rumbling as he goes, “Now... exactly how _rough_ do you want it...?”

Something like awe flickers across Gavin’s face, though it should probably be fear. Then he regains himself enough to snort, “I’m already stretched and lubed up, asshole. I’m not stupid.”

“Cheeky,” the RK900 notes with no small degree of amusement. “Perhaps you’ll need to be punished for that.” Gavin’s eyes go wide. The RK900 climbs up onto the edge of the round bed, forcing Gavin to crawl further back. The RK900 was never going to take Gavin _raw_ —he knows humans need to be held with at least _some_ small decree of delicacy, but Gavin’s continued attitude answers the real meaning of his question. As nice as Gavin looks on his back, the RK900 grabs his leg and jerks him around. Gavin cries out again at being manhandled, but he still falls right into place—the RK900 hooks him up on hands and knees, just like the dog he is. 

As soon as the RK900 hooks his thumbs in Gavin’s underwear and starts pulling down, he understands the merit of _real_ organic bodies. He has hundreds of android specifications in his head, but the ass before him isn’t like any sculpted plating—it’s an entirely unique, thick set of plush ass-cheeks just begging to be played with. He shoves Gavin’s underwear down around his thighs, and Gavin, for all his complaints, thrusts his ass back towards the RK900, like he’s just _dying_ to be filled. The RK900 pauses to peel off his jacket and loosen his tie first. While he’s unbuckling his belt, Gavin peeks over his shoulder, then hurriedly looks back again when his eyes meet the RK900’s. Blushing fiercely, Gavin bites out, “Just do it already, you plastic prick.” If he’s trying to goad the RK900, it’s working, but not in the way he thinks.

The RK900 isn’t offended. Just horribly _turned on_. Nearly all of his active subroutines have turned towards this task. When he’s pried Gavin’s pert cheeks apart enough to see the glistening, puckered hole in between, the RK900 actually sets a running diagnostic in case his sensors overload. He’s never studied anything as intently as he does Gavin Reed’s asshole. 

He’s basically been given permission to go ahead. He thrusts one finger against Gavin’s hole anyway. Gavin makes a startled noise as it pops inside, instantly sucked into the velvety cavern beyond. The RK900 tests it for a few glorious seconds before adding a second finger. The lubrication seems adequate, but he scissors Gavin open as wide as he can, half because it’s necessary in order to avoid injury, and half because Gavin sounds particularly erotic when he moans as loud as he does for the RK900’s fingers. It’s a simple matter of exploration to find the spot he’ll be aiming for—he barely brushes it, and Gavin’s whole body shivers. Gavin swallows and mutters, “’Thought you were gonna—”

The RK900 rips his fingers away, lines up, and stabs inside before Gavin can even finish his sentence. He screams so loud that the RK900 gets audio feedback. He hungrily records the sound, eager for more. 

The RK900 is an investigative model. He was never built for _pleasure_ , but he’s downloaded all the standard information, and it comes as naturally as his original program: his body seems to know just what to do with Gavin’s fragile shell. He descends over Gavin, scooping one arm around Gavin’s middle, because Gavin’s already trembling like a leaf and is clearly going to collapse if not held up. The other hand ducks between Gavin’s legs, and the RK900 latches onto his cock with an intense ferocity. His hips drag back and slam forward, relentlessly fucking Gavin’s asshole, but he doesn’t pump Gavin’s cock along with it—he knows he’s battering Gavin’s prostate enough for that to be it. He already knows he won’t be able to use Gavin’s pliant body for as long as he wants, but he plans on utilizing _at least_ half an hour. Judging from Gavin’s gasping and screaming, he could come in seconds. 

He’s pathetic. He feels _fantastic_. He’s tight, wet, hot, constantly flexing around the RK900’s shaft and shaking in the RK900’s grasp, hips trying to stutter back into the RK900’s but too inferior to get far. The RK900 drives it. He controls Gavin completely. He scrapes his blunt nails across Gavin’s chest and opens his mouth over Gavin’s shoulder, licking the peach-coloured flesh there before biting in. Gavin’s answer is a shuddering sob. He’s screamed himself hoarse in no time, and the RK900 just keeps going, fucking him over and over again and refusing to let him come. 

Swearing occasionally punctuates the constant shrieks and groans. The RK900 is silent himself, his mouth also busy with the back of Gavin’s neck and shoulder blades—he leaves little nips everywhere, pink rings that aren’t _quite_ red but still serve as markings: proof that he was there. Finally, Gavin breaks into a wavering, “...Fuck, _please_...”

The RK900 grabs a chunk of Gavin’s hair and wrenches his head back. His cheeks are flushed and tear-stained, clearly at his limit— _past_ his limit—it’s doubtful his delicate human body can withstand more of the RK900’s brutal pounding. The RK900 knows he’s likely fucking Gavin harder than even any other android could—the RK900 is, after all, _the best_. He can feel Gavin’s cock throbbing in his hand, desperate for release. 

The RK900 benevolently lets go, and Gavin’s instantly screaming, splattering the bed and the RK900’s hand. His body clenches almost violently around the RK900’s cock, only adding to the sensory overload—the RK900 lets out a low moan of approval. He wasn’t expecting to make _any_ noise, but Gavin’s proved a worthy vessel indeed. 

The RK900 doesn’t let him finish. Grabbing his leg, the RK900 spins Gavin around onto his back again while he’s still skewered on the RK900’s cock and his dick’s still leaking. Casually tossing Gavin’s knees over his shoulders, the RK900 keeps pounding into Gavin’s abused ass. The entire area’s brightly flushed, but that just makes it more beautiful. The new angle is even more enjoyable—he likes seeing Gavin’s abused cock bounce off his stomach. Seeing Gavin’s fucked-stupid face is even more rewarding. He stares up at the RK900 in lust-clouded disbelief as the RK900 tenderizes his ass. 

“F... _fuck_... holy fucking shit...” Gavin’s eyes roll back into his head as the RK900 deliberately hits his prostate again. Humans are supposed to require a refractory period. But Gavin’s relatively young, and the RK900 has been known to push others past their own limits. He wraps his hand around Gavin’s cock again, pleased that it hasn’t totally softened. Gavin groans like it hurts him, and he arches off the bed and thrashes when the RK900 starts pumping his cock, but his noises denote that he _loves it_. The RK900 can only imagine that Gavin’s the most popular human in the club, despite his poor attitude. He looks irresistible, painted in flecks of his own cum. The RK900 idly wonders just how many others have fucked Gavin—how many different cocks he’s had inside him, how many people he’s eaten out, how many he’s swallowed down, if he ever goes home with patrons and if he’s ever been fucked in a police precinct—

Gavin’s mouth stretches open, but no sound crackles out—just gorgeous, shuddering gasps. He spurts all over the RK900’s hand and clamps down again—the RK900’s sensors whirr with the mechanical intake of _pleasure_.

He lets himself finish, lets the simulated orgasm run, stripping away the projected skin on his hand and cock as he drowns in that contact. It’s absurdly _good_. Better than catching a collar. Better than closing the largest case he’s ever had. He pours a thirium-based discharge into Gavin’s tight channel and grinds it all inside. 

When he’s finished, he thinks of staying inside. He wouldn’t mind having Gavin Reed warm his cock until he wanted to go again—maybe he could take Gavin up against the wall next, or right on the floor. He could think of a few other creative positions. He’d like to see if he could properly fuck Gavin’s mouth without breaking his jaw. 

Gavin already looks _wrecked_. The RK900 decides he’s done enough damage for one session and begrudgingly pulls out his cock, wiping it off on the soft inside of Gavin’s thigh before he tucks himself back in. Gavin stares up at him, breathing so hard that it’s almost worrying. At least the RK900 knows CPR. 

Gavin looks uncharacteristically speechless. The RK900 understands the sentiment. Seeing Gavin’s face mid-orgasm, he now understands the appeal of fucking humans. As Gavin pants and leaks onto the bed sheets, the RK900 idly asks, “How was it?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Gavin groans. “Fuck the whole club... you should just buy me straight out. Take me home, and I’ll ride that plastic android dick any time you want.”

The RK900 dons a thin smile. “I believe that’s a different kind of human arrangement.”

“Hey, client, sugar daddy, fuck-buddy with a coin-purse, I don’t care—just do me like _that_ again.”

The RK900 chuckles. He hasn’t even offered money yet, but Gavin clearly hasn’t forgotten it—he is, after all, at work. But the RK900 is pleased to know he’s convinced Gavin of his merit after hours. 

He could definitely afford a live in human. They can be expensive to keep—needing shelter, clothes, endless food—but the RK900 has no other interests to invest in. As he detangles Gavin’s legs from his shoulders, he lifts one and gets a good look at Gavin’s fucked-open hole, dribbling lubrication and synthetic cum onto the bedspread. 

His priority’s easily selected. He agrees, “I’ll consider it.”


End file.
